The Final Truth
by LFB72
Summary: Arthur knew Merlin had a secret, and it was driving him mad. A botched attempt on the castle presents the king with a means of getting the answers he craves - but at what cost? Arthur's actions not only risk his servant's life, but all they have built. Contains: hurt/comfort, angst, and Merlin whump. Reveal fic.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer, I do not own Merlin.**

**This story is finished, all the chapters are written, but they just need to be edited, and tweaked a bit before posting.**

**I would like to thank Caldera32 for being such a wonderful Beta again and Veilwuarrah, for all her support and advice – Thank you both! Caldera very kindly did the cover art too.**

**This piece is set after the end of season 4, but before season 5, it is a sequel to my other story, Burning Amidst an Ocean, but I think it is possible to enjoy it on its own. I hope you like it. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated. **

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Chapter 1 Prologue: The vial

Appearances can be deceptive. It was hard to believe such a great power could hide in such an innocuous form, and that the victims of such a force would not even know they had been duped and manipulated.

A small vial was held between his thumb and index finger; he rotated it repeatedly and watched the air bubble rise and fall as he manoeuvred the little bottle between his digits. It rolled back and forth over his knuckles, into his palm, and back again; over and over. Occasionally the glass would chink against his silver thumb ring but the vial continued on its journey, never stopping. It was mesmerising, the power he held in his hand – and he knew exactly whom he was going to use it on.

He was proud of his wife, her independence and how she had grown into her role; he discussed almost everything with his love and valued her clear-headed counsel. The queen was away on state business and it couldn't have been at a worse time. He needed her calming presence right now because if she were here he probably would not even consider the course of action he was currently pursuing.

Arthur could not ask Merlin for advice as he usually would since the servant was the very cause of the anguish. Gaius was hardly objective in this matter and, as king, the knights looked up to him as their leader. In reality he knew Gwaine would gut him rather than agree to this plan and Leon had become much more protective of his servant lately so they would be no allies. Arthur's spouse was absent so he was left to brood and scheme alone - which was most unbefitting of the king who had created the round table. The royal would argue he'd been driven to it, that he had no choice. As soon as the monarch thought about it in those terms, Merlin's fate was sealed.

What the royal did not know was that his actions would result in something far more terrible and tragic than he could ever have imagined. Unfortunately the king was not blessed with second sight, for if he were he would have gotten rid of the tiny vial as soon as it came into his possession. He didn't understand what he was dealing with and his servant would pay the price of the king's ill-informed decision.

Three months ago there had been another failed attempt on his beloved Camelot. Nothing unusual in that, there were no shortages of enemies queuing up to try and have a piece of his glorious city or dislodge her monarch. None had been successful save for Morgana, and she had been dethroned relatively quickly - although not without losses. It amazed the king sometimes how they had been victorious in light of such unfavourable odds, but time and time again the seemingly impossible was achieved – almost like an invisible force was keeping them safe. Arthur did not want to dwell on that and what it meant; it was something he could not make sense of, just a feeling he got sometimes.

It was the method of attack that placed this attempt apart from the others, thus setting the wheels in motion for the events that would follow. Gaius had frowned upon it and said that even in the days of the Old Religion such practices had been considered unethical. Unfortunately, despite his misgivings, a seed was planted that day. It took root, then grew and prospered in the fertile ground of Arthur's mind. It became a poisonous weed whose tendrils worked their way into every corner and crevice, choking the king's reason until the royal saw no other way.

In truth, the doubts began long before then - after his best friend had nearly died. A quest to a neighbouring kingdom across a vast ocean had almost ended in disaster when Merlin fell in the sea, almost drowned, and developed a life threatening fever. In his delirium the servant had disclosed a forbidden but ultimately tragic relationship with a druid girl. It was Arthur's hand that had stolen her life, but miraculously his friend had held no grudge -had even forgiven the heinous deed. As his servant was nursed back to health scars and mutilations were revealed that covered his frail body, gained protecting loved ones and serving his king. It astounded Arthur that despite the burdens the young man carried (pain that would crush a lesser man) his friend could take such simple pleasure in the world around him, could be optimistic in the face of danger and seek goodness where others saw a pit of despair. _Why pursue this if Merlin is so seemingly wholesome? Because I know he's lying to me and has done for quite some time._

Things were supposed to be different when they got back to Camelot, and they were, but when Arthur tried to sit Merlin down and reopen their discussion other things got in the way; chores that needed attending, strange bangs that must be investigated. In desperation Arthur had even tried to loosen his friends tongue with alcohol, but Gwaine had also been at the tavern and his antics had caused such a commotion that they'd been forced to flee, their merry friend in tow. This debacle left the royal's opportunity for questions squandered yet again. The king had learnt much about Merlin over the years and had discovered some startling revelations on that fateful voyage but there were still gaps in his knowledge and all his servant offered was an impenetrable wall of silence and deflection.

At first, Arthur accepted some things were hidden; there were secrets he was just not meant to know. It irked him, though; a darkness that got under his skin and itched. Once that black mark was scratched it became a wound; a weeping chasm that could not be ignored and would offer no peace until that final truth was known.

Thus the doubts began the uncertainty, the suspicion, and finally the knowledge that Merlin kept a grave secret. _What could it possibly be? What could be worse than the things I have already discovered? Why will he not tell me? We are friends, aren't we? He knows everything about me, but sometimes I think I know nothing -that I have only scratched the surface. That's not how friendship works._

The monarch braced himself, dug deep, and grasped his wavering resolve. With a harsh sigh he broke the wax seal, uncorked the tiny vial, and poured the contents into a water-skin. The warrior's hands shook as he performed the task, but not a drop was spilled. Now all he had to do was get Merlin to drink the potion, and wait. _This was the right thing to do; he had no choice. Then why were his palms slippery, his mouth dry, and his skin crawling at the wrongness of what he was about to do?_

The king had good instincts, if he had listened to them all that would follow could have been avoided – but he was deaf, stubborn, and thought he knew best. That was his bane and Merlin would pay the price for it - with his life.


	2. Chapter 2

**The response to the first chapter was a huge surprise! Thank you so much to everyone that took the time to review, follow, and favourite, including the guest reviewers. Your feedback means the world to me. I notice a fair few people had a look at Burning Amidst an Ocean too - thanks for all the support.**

**Here is the next chapter - where the rot begins, I hope you enjoy it. As always, any comments will be appreciated.**

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Chapter 2 The Break-in

Merlin is a sorcerer, the most powerful ever to walk the earth – or so they say; so why did the mighty one keep finding himself in near-death situations? He was prevented from pondering this troublesome matter further by the distinct lack of oxygen reaching his brain.

The warlock's vision was starting to fade and he clawed at the fat fingers that were locked round his throat, trying to release the pressure on his trachea so he could breathe. He fought and kicked his assailant but the large man was out of reach even for the servant's gangly limbs. He was pinned mercilessly against stone, the unforgiving surface biting into his back and skull. Muscular forearms lifted Merlin off the ground, his feet desperately scrabbling but failing to find purchase.

The king's manservant could feel spittle hit his face, could smell the stench of bad teeth, but was deaf to the evil insults being delivered with glee; everything was obscured by the pounding in his skull. His brain and lungs screamed for air, but it could not get through. His head would surely explode with the build up of pressure that was fighting for release.

"I'm enjoying this," the man sneered.

If Merlin had been in a position to give a retort he would, but as it was he did not even register the words; he was too busy losing the battle to stay conscious.

"I will never have to listen to your stupid prattle ever again."

The warlock's world went black.

"I will squeeze until your eyes turn, you interfering piece of..."

The sentence was left hanging, but his wishes were granted. The ugly man never heard Merlin's voice again and his prey's eyes did change colour – vibrant gold, a split second before the monster was hurled through the air like a wet rag to strike the opposing wall. The limp body bounced off the bricks and fell to the floor with a resounding thud and a small cloud of dust.

The wounded warlock dropped to his knees and fell onto his side. He clutched at his throbbing neck, flailing like a fish out of water, gasping for the sweet oxygen that was his once more. He did not care that the debris from the floor was sucked up into his aching lungs or that his sight was yet to return, being alive was reward enough. The sorcerer barely had time to reflect on how saving Camelot had resulted in him injuring himself yet again before he was overtaken by exhaustion and blacked out.

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There was a ringing sound disturbing his sleep and he batted at it feebly, which of course was useless. The noise was so loud it was impossible to get comfortable and the dark-haired man was forced to open his eyes. He was not in his bed, which is where he should be in the middle of the night; instead he lay on the floor in the middle of a cold corridor. It took a moment to remember what had led him to this destination, but his tight throat and the spectacle before him served as a reminder. To his left was the man that had attacked him – the oaf was alive but out cold. Merlin struggled to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.

The sound of pounding footsteps alerted the warlock to the imminent arrival of company. He picked up the metal pitcher that had been largely unsuccessful as the first line of defence against his assailant and muttered a hasty spell aimed at reducing the swelling of his throat. He only just had time to adjust his neckerchief so the damage was hidden before Leon and Gwaine skidded around the corner. The knights ground to a halt, swords drawn as they surveyed the scene with some surprise. After a brief pause Gwaine strides over and grasps his friend's skinny shoulder, giving it two affectionate slaps.

"Well done mate!" He winked, acknowledging the makeshift weapon Merlin brandished in his hands.

Both knights went to the fallen man's prone body and rolled him over, searching his form as if looking for something in addition to checking his vitals.

Arthur materialised moments later, flanked by two guards. Woken by the sound of the warning bell, the royal arrived in the main corridor to find his personal servant and two knights crowded around an inert form on the floor. Merlin looked shaken, leaning against the wall; he hugged himself awkwardly, rubbed his left arm, and could not hide the bruise beginning to bloom on his temple. The dark-haired man's gaze did not leave the crumpled, unconscious male.

The motionless figure was a servant who had been in the castle's employ for over six months. Arthur did not know his name but he recognised the face, his work had been exemplary. The reason the king was so familiar with this man was because Merlin had pointed him out a few days previously. His friend had come to him warning that something was going on, that the other servant could not be trusted. Unfortunately, Merlin had no proof other than a 'feeling', leaving the king powerless to act. So he had dismissed his manservant's claims. The rebuke had produced a look of hurt on the dark-haired man's face that had not gone unnoticed by the monarch.

"What happened?" The king barked.

Leon answered, "The vaults have been broken into and two guards were killed."

Arthur rubbed his brow; there were all manner of dangerous artefacts, precious metals, gems and weapons down there.

"What was taken?" He asked gravely.

"Small items of high value, mainly jewels from what we can tell," Gwaine retrieved the precious items that had been stuffed into the unconscious man's pockets and held aloft a silver amulet which swung hypnotically from his cupped hands.

"Are these all the missing items?"

Leon nodded, "We think so Sire."

The king sighed in relief, and shook his head, "Well, your actions seem to have averted a potential disaster."

"Thank you, Sire," Leon nods.

The warlock let out the breath he'd been holding. Arthur is about to wrap everything up – soon it will all be over and he can go back to his bed. His assailant is still unconscious, but if later he makes an accusation of sorcery who would believe him? He's an established liar and a thief.

"Hang on, what about our man Merlin?" Gwaine says enthusiastically, shooting the curly-haired knight a dirty look and motioning towards Merlin with a big grin, "He's the one who stopped the guy." It annoys Gwaine that his young friend never gets any recognition for the things he does.

The knight saunters over to the servant, placing an arm around his shoulders and giving an affectionate squeeze, "You dark horse, I didn't know you had it in you," he chuckles.

The thin man looked up for the first time, "eh..., erm...," he gave up on speaking and just smiled, slightly bewildered. Merlin inwardly cursed Gwaine; he means well, but the secret sorcerer would've been quite happy for the knights to take the credit – now all the attention is on him.

Arthur studied the large oaf out cold on the floor and glanced back to his slender servant. Ever since the king first saw those hideous scars on Merlin's lithe frame he had vowed to stop any more being added to the porcelain skin. The royal had started giving the notoriously clumsy servant lessons on how to defend himself. Merlin had shown some improvement, but still, this traitor had dispatched two guards in a gruesome manner and was twice the size of the lanky man.

"How?" The monarch was incredulous. _Merlin never ceased to amaze._

All eyes turn towards the king's manservant, who had been unusually quite during the exchanges. Merlin jerked himself aware and took in the questioning look of his king. He bit his lip and hesitated before extricating himself from Gwaine's grip with a wince. He then produced a metal water pitcher from behind his back, one with a head-shaped dent in the side. He waved the jug nonchalantly with a twitch of the lips and small shoulder shrug.

"Merlin, are you mad?" Arthur screeched, "He's a giant, why didn't you get one of the knights?"

The servant looked exasperated, but was saved from speaking by Gaius' fortuitous arrival. The white-haired man's creaking joints announced his presence shortly before the hobbling physician came into view, breathless and escorted by Percival.

"What's this?" Exclaimed Gwaine, having gone back to the body. He rose to his feet, flicking a long fringe of wavy hair from his bearded face with a deft jerk of his chin. The rugged knight pulled out a leather package triumphantly and unravelled the bundle with some fanfare - it contained several glass vials, each with clear liquid in them.

"Gaius?" The king queried.

The physician held out a gnarled hand and the knight dropped the little bottles into his palm. Gaius grasped one and put the remaining vials in his pocket. The old man held it up to the torch light. He carefully uncorked it and sniffed, then put a drop of liquid onto his forefinger, rubbing it between that digit and his thumb before tasting it. Arthur watched, totally enthralled by the myriad of facial expressions the old man displayed as he worked. After an age and much smacking of lips, grunts, and groans; Gaius raised an eyebrow and addressed his liege – delivering a verdict.

"I cannot be certain Sire, but I believe this to be sodium pentothal," registering the blank expressions, he clarified, "commonly known as truth serum."

"Truth serum?" The king questioned, confused.

"I believe so, Your Highness. It is incredibly difficult to make even for the very skilled."

"Sorcery?" Arthur guessed, resigned. He missed his servant's flinch at the word, but Leon didn't.

"No, apothecary," the physician huffed. "The practice is often considered similar to that of witchcraft, but there is no magic involved. Unfortunately, many innocent chemists perished needlessly in the purge." He finished solemnly, clasping his hands together in front of his robes, having placed the vial in a pocket.

Gaius' tone was neutral but the statement demonstrated once again the indiscriminate slaughter that took place during Uther's reign. Arthur inwardly cringed. For years the easiest way to dispose of someone would be to suggest they were a magic user. The mere accusation itself was often enough to seal their fate - evidence rarely, if ever, came into it. The king shuddered; Guinevere had twice been moments from a horrific execution over a mere misunderstanding, only being saved by the discovery of the real magic wielder at the last second.

"It is a highly effective weapon; odourless, colourless, and tasteless," Gaius' explanation broke into the king's thoughts. "It produces an effect similar to intoxication, but is much more reliable. The victim answers questions willingly and afterward has no recollection. It is one of the more pleasant ways of extracting information."

The monarch put his hands on his hips and paced. Camelot had many secrets that her enemies would want, such as the layout of the citadel or the timing of patrols. He trusted his men implicitly, but how could they fight such an invisible force? Camelot knights were renowned for their loyalty, courage, and fortitude under pressure. The monarch shook his head, this method was so simple.

Gwaine took umbrage at the accusing glare he was receiving from the king.

"Don't look at me princess, I've not told him anything!" The rugged knight drew himself up defensively.

"You wouldn't know," the royal began, chest puffed, but was interrupted by a cough.

"We have caught the culprit," Leon supplied helpfully. "Hopefully he has been apprehended before he could put the plan into action."

Arthur sighed, he wanted to believe his second-in-command but the facts did not add up.

"If what Gaius says is true, this potion was made by someone who did not want to be noticed. It's a sophisticated form of attack." The king gestured to the lump on the floor, "He stole and killed, which is brutal and crass. It does not make sense."

Gwaine shrugged, "Perhaps he was employed by someone else and got greedy?" Despite the apparent carefree attitude and a penchant for ale, Gwaine was an intelligent and astute man. When it came to people and their motives, he was very perceptive. The thief had indeed been a pawn in a bigger scheme, but like many before him, he had been seduced by the lure of Camelot's treasures.

The king recognised the merit of what the knight had said, and Arthur found himself nodding. "Very well, let us trust that is the extent of it. Either way we will have our answers in the morning - we have the very means of gaining the information if it is not forthcoming."

Merlin felt sick - he'd used his magic on the traitor. _Someone with a bloody truth tonic, what were the chances? _ When the slime-ball woke and was questioned he would delight in telling them. Should it somehow slip his mind, that damned potion would jog it for him and the sorcerer's secret would be a secret no more.

During the exchange the king had noticed Merlin sagging, slowly sliding down the wall. He looked distant as he nursed his arm absently; his eyes were bloodshot, he was far too pale and a little unsteady.

"Are you hurt?" Arthur exclaimed suddenly.

The warlock made a grunting noise and shook his head. Arthur could tell his servant was injured and lying about it. Anger flared. Arthur would have taken Merlin's response at face value not so long ago, but not anymore. The monarch marched over and wrenched the sleeve of his friend's tunic up to reveal a purple hand print over his wrist.

The king seethed. Giving Merlin a disappointed look, he dipped his head and blew hot air through flared nostrils. The injured limb fell gently back to its owner's side when the royal released him.

"Don't lie to me, Merlin; I'm not blind," he said viciously, struggling to keep the hurt out of his voice.

In the past his servant had repeatedly been wounded and covered it up, so the royal had taken it upon himself to pay more attention - especially after skirmishes. He had hoped his servant would be more honest, but it was becoming obvious that was not the case. Arthur did not like being taken for a fool. _The marks on Merlin's arm were minor, so why hide them? What else was he concealing? _He suspected the injuries were more extensive just by the way the servant had moved, yet his reluctance to admit this remained a mystery. Doubts burrowed into his mind and would not go away.

The royal was weary and slight irritation crept into his voice, "Take the traitor to the dungeons," he waved his finger at the direction of the thief. "We will question him at first light," the command was directed at his knights. "Merlin, get Gaius to check your arm." Then he added, quietly and with some resignation, "You look tired, get some sleep – I will expect you at normal time in the morning."

"Yes Sire," Merlin nodded submissively. He was relieved Arthur had not pulled down his neckerchief; the faded red material barely hid the marks he'd received when the spy had tried to strangle him. Should the royal have discovered the bruises to his throat his victory over a man twice his size would have been even more unbelievable. The warlock knew the king was angry and he felt slightly ashamed. Arthur had been trying so hard recently; the usually oblivious royal had started applying his sharp hunting skills and had become more observant and, subsequently, more suspicious. The secret sorcerer was terrified of making a slip up and revealing his gift. _But if the captive man spoke what did his effort matter?_ He tried not to think about it.

It was second nature to draw attention away from himself by blending into the background and playing an idiot. That way no one would imagine him a powerful warlock – the very thought would be absurd. Perhaps he should have told Arthur the extent of his injures, but things were getting tricky as it was. Arthur had insisted on giving him private lessons in swordsmanship; the sovereign now watched him intently and if it wasn't the king, then it was Leon. The curly-haired knight kept popping up in all manner of inconvenient places. It made him feel paranoid and was making clandestine trips around the castle very difficult.

These extra precautions seemed to be in place since his near-drowning. He should have been grateful for their concern because it showed that, underneath the insults, they cared. Yet the attention smothered him and he was not worthy of it. He was a fraud. Emrys was a mighty warlock; he did not need looking after. As long as he wasn't taken by surprise he was more than capable of taking care of himself and protecting his king. The knights and Arthur were blinded by his simple persona; it would make it so much worse when they discovered his deception and found out what he really was.

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The following morning the king went to question the thief, accompanied by Gwaine and Percival. All hell had broken loose. The prisoner had a knife at the neck of a man, holding him hostage; somehow he'd managed to strangle a guard and escape from the cell. There was an uncomfortable silence; the knights drew their swords and Arthur spoke.

"Put the knife down and release the guard; you're outnumbered."

"No, I don't think I will," he said as he edged towards the corridor. Feeling like he had the upper hand, the large man couldn't resist gloating. "You're such a fool. You don't know what's going on with your own staff," he sneered.

"We still caught you," the guard said through gritted teeth, his gaze darting between the knights and his captor.

"No, the runt got me. I'd never have guessed, sneaky little...," seeing the confusion flick over the royal's face, he added, "Oh, didn't you know, Pendragon? Your personal servant's a...," the thief choked on the words and his eyes suddenly widened in shock. The knife clattered to the floor as he looked down and clasped his chest, red blossoming beneath his fingers. His body pitched forward to hit the ground hard, a sword protruding from his back.

The freed guard fainted, joining the dead man in a heap on the floor. Leon was now revealed as the knight who had put an end to the murderer's rampage. He stood stoically awaiting judgement.

"Leon! What have you done? We needed to question him!"

"I'm sorry Sire," Leon bowed, "he was dangerous. He'd killed three men and was threatening a fourth – it was necessary." The curly-haired knight responded reasonably and with the utmost respect.

The thief was dead and his secrets died with him. Leon did not regret what he'd done; he'd seen the man's body when Gaius had checked him over last night, when the physician had confirmed he would be fine. Leon knew the man's injuries were consistent with being thrown against a wall, not a blow to the head with a tiny water pitcher. The knight had sworn to protect Merlin, even if the servant was not aware of it, and if that meant killing a dangerous and vindictive murderer before he could be questioned then so be it.

As the knights had removed the bodies, the royal lamented over another attack on Camelot - all be it a failed one. He watched everyone depart and sat quietly, absorbed in his own thoughts. As Arthur readied himself to leave something caught his eye. He bent down and picked up a vial – They must have missed it when searching the prisoner earlier. The king stuffed the tiny bottle in his back pocket and returned to his chambers. He would give the potion to Gaius later.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, followed, and favourited. Special thanks to Caldera32 for her hard work as a Beta. **

**I hope you like the next chapter. Feedback as always is very welcome.**

Chapter 3 Little White Lies

The castle felt different at this time of night – eerie. Although he was king and free to roam where and when he pleased it seemed wrong to be creeping around the empty corridors when most of Camelot's inhabitants were tucked up in their beds asleep. Tonight such a simple pleasure eluded the royal; he could not sleep and it was his servant's fault. It was down to Merlin that he was wide awake and sneaking around his own castle like a naughty boy hiding from his father rather than the married and respected sovereign he was. The irony being that the dark-haired man would usually be at his side instigating such an activity, not the subject of it.

It was essential he spoke to his servant. Of course he'd tried talking before, but he never knew what to say. Despite all the insults, bravado, and banter which came so easily; getting information out of Merlin was like trying to prize a limpet off a rock. It had gone on long enough; he needed to know. He had to understand what it was that his friend could not tell him.

Three months had passed since he'd acquired a truth potion. Arthur had genuinely meant to give it back to Gaius, but somehow never got around to it and too much time had passed now for it not to be awkward. The royal could hardly leave something like that lying around for anyone to find, so he kept it on his person. He'd toyed with the idea of giving Merlin the tonic, but had dismissed such a dishonourable notion out of hand. He'd repeatedly tried to bury the noxious idea in the recesses of his mind, but it would not stay down. Every time his servant avoided a question or told a suspicious story he found his hand gravitating toward the little bottle he kept in his pocket. This had to stop; it was driving him mad.

After several hours of fruitless tossing and turning Arthur had gotten up, dressed, and was determined to sort this business out once and for all. It was the middle of the night, but Merlin had let slip Gaius was away dealing with a birth in the lower town leaving the servant alone. The royal wondered if it was too late for the visit, but his friend often stayed up into the wee hours; the frequency of barely-concealed yawns and half-lidded eyes was testament to that.

When the royal arrived at the physician's quarters the room was dark; Arthur could only just make out the array of bottles, books and apparatus lain on the table. He crossed the aromatic area and made his way up the stairs to the servant's room. No light escaped from under the door to indicate the occupant was still awake but the king continued regardless. He opened the door with every intention of waking the sleeping man by any means necessary but the bed was bare and unsullied - the room's usual resident was nowhere to be found. Arthur waited, drummed his fingers and paced about in the small space; he even considered looking over Merlin's sparse belongings to pass the time. He spied what appeared to be an ancient tome half stuffed under his servant's pillow, but there was insufficient light to even attempt to read it; besides, it felt like an intrusion.

Sleep was yet another one of those skills that came easily to the monarch; he would end his day tired from the arduous physical activity of training or hunting in addition to the mental fatigue from attending endless council meetings, reading official documents, and writing boring reports. Being a king could be exhausting, so he was more than ready for his bed when the time came. Arthur tried to be a good and just leader thus could slip into bliss easily. Seldom did his conscience keep him from slumber; usually he was so content in dreamland that he would resent his servant trying to separate him from his covers when the morning arrived far too quickly. The monarch smiled as he thought of the inventive ways Merlin had attempted to rouse him, only to dodge a goblet or piece of fruit for his trouble. The servant had been a little more cautious with his wake-ups following the royal marriage. Arriving unannounced one morning he'd been forced to retreat rather quickly, leaving red faces all around.

Many emotions assaulted the king; he was surprised, curious, and a tad annoyed regarding his servant's whereabouts. _What was he doing at this hour? The tavern wasn't even open!_ As the time went by worry encroached. It was not unusual for Merlin to just disappear only to turn up with some tall tale but despite outward appearances he did not always return unscathed - or so the king had discovered recently. Arthur sighed; he knew his knights did not always remain in their own beds and he would not presume to pursue the matter, but the knights did not keep secrets - if anything, there was a tendency to brag about their exploits. Merlin, however, had always been a bit of an enigma and despite a mouth that was seldom without motion the servant could be surprisingly tight-lipped when he wanted to be. The royal's eyelids grew heavy and when he could stand the chill room no longer he inwardly admitted defeat and returned to his chambers, falling asleep shortly before dawn.

* * *

Things had been going well recently; three months had passed since the last incident and the number of magical attacks on Camelot had dropped (thanks to the warlock's vigilance and some of the wards he'd placed on the castle). Merlin still felt uneasy; he had been so sure there would be backlash after the fiasco with the truth potion. After all, the thief had died in captivity; the person who had employed him had to wonder what had happened. Surely all that planning would not go to waste? There must be more to it, an additional assault on the city and her king perhaps. There had been nothing. The servant worried; for weeks he'd stayed up late at night searching through his magic book for defensive spells and silent alarms that would alert him if anything was amiss. It did not ease his sense of foreboding. Something bad was going to happen; he knew it.

At least Gaius had destroyed the potion immediately. The old physician had been enthralled by the craftsmanship, but he knew how tempting and dangerous such a thing could be. It would not do for something like that to get into the wrong hands – the consequences for Camelot would be dire. Merlin gave an involuntary shiver; too much knowledge never bade well. Morgana was a seer and look where that got her; all those glimpses of the future made her demented and desperate. Prophecies and visions in crystal had tormented him too. He was told Mordred would kill Arthur and he let the boy go – he could not have destroyed an innocent child. Should the druid ever return with ill intent, Merlin would be forced to live with the knowledge he could have prevented it. He had been shown the havoc the dragon would cause, but his hand was forced and he released Kilgharrah anyway - then he had to watch the same scenes play over and over, like fate was taunting him as a sick joke. No, being blind had its benefits and he envied Arthur because the king did not know half of what went on; it was better that way. To just live your life as it was and not have destiny pull strings, highlight mistakes, and dangle dreams that were out of reach. Yes, sometimes he wished he was oblivious to what was happening because then he could wallow in the bliss of ignorance.

On a positive note, Arthur seemed to be asking for his opinion a bit more frequently. Merlin felt valued in his own right - that maybe his thoughts were worth something to his friend. The king had even discussed the old druid clans with Geoffrey the librarian, and it would appear the royal really was going to act on the promise he made to pardon the people - opening up discussions with their communities. Perhaps it was time to confess about his magic, but he could not bring himself to do it just yet. The tide finally felt like it may change and he did not want to spoil it with a rash decision. Before he revealed his secret he wanted to make sure the castle and those he loved were protected in case he had to leave suddenly.

Thoughts kept churning around his head to the extent he was dizzy with them. The warlock yawned and rubbed his eyes; he was drained. He'd already splashed water on his face to keep himself awake but to no avail. It had just caused him to be late and he barely made it to the kitchens in time to collect Arthur's breakfast. He contemplated pinching some of the food but suddenly felt nauseous. Merlin wanted to crawl into bed but couldn't; if only he hadn't been up all night. He hoped the royal wouldn't notice how tired he was and ask questions because the sorcerer could hardly tell him what he'd been up to. Trouble was, Arthur was noticing things and quizzing him more lately - he would just have to pretend nothing was wrong.

The curtains were thrown back enthusiastically, welcoming bright sunshine into the king's chambers. The servant performing the task was equally cheery.

"Wakey, wakey, lazy daisy," the skinny man bellowed, beginning to organise the room.

Arthur was bad-tempered and launched a pillow in the direction of his seemingly joyous employee. Merlin's happy demeanour irked him no end.

"How, in the name of sanity, can you be so happy at this time in the morning?" He snarled, diving back under the covers.

The dark-haired man smiled smugly (Arthur could not see his face but could hear it in the tone and knew the expression that went with that voice).

"Without Gaius' snoring to keep me up I enjoyed one of the best night's rest in a long time," the servant crowed.

Arthur froze, livid. He threw back the sheets ready to challenge the younger man and catch him out in his deception – but the king stopped himself. Anger at being constantly misled fizzed beneath the surface. _To think, he'd actually been concerned about his friend's whereabouts. _He watched, stunned, as Merlin continued his chores in an easy manner. He took in the creased clothes, unkempt hair, telltale dark circles under the eyes, and the slight stiffness of his movements. _How did his servant have the gall to pretend he wasn't up all night when he looked like that? What the hell had he been doing? _ Merlin had stood before him and told a blatant lie; how it had slid as smooth as honey from that sharp mouth amazed and infuriated the royal as he'd always considered his friend honest.

That was the beginning of the end; no one made a fool of Arthur Pendragon. He would have his answers regardless of whether Merlin wanted to give them; he had the very means at his disposal and what had been so abhorrent suddenly seemed necessary. It would be easy, painless, and his servant would be none the wiser until it was all over. He was slippery and evaded questions like water through open fingers but Arthur was the king of Camelot and his subjects did not keep secrets from him. He was furious at Merlin. He felt no guilt at his plan of action, on the contrary, he was indignant and righteous. The royal struggled to keep his testiness in check; but his servant did not suspect a thing since such behaviour was commonplace in the mornings.

The easiest way to get Merlin to drink the potion would be to make him thirsty; that evening he would open the potion and pour the contents into a water-skin. Arthur informed the servant they would have an extra sparring session at the end of the day. If the king noticed the slight sag of the shoulders and huff this news elicited he said nothing – if his servant was tired, that was his own fault.

Merlin stifled a yawn and pressed on with his chores. _I just needed to keep going for a couple more hours – then I could have slept and recovered. _Now that wasn't going to happen. The harmless fib designed to avoid a tricky situation would be his undoing – the catalyst that would plunge him head-long into his worst nightmare.


	4. Chapter 4

**To everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and followed – the support for this story has been amazing so far, and I cannot thank you enough. Once again, a special mention to Caldera32 who has pulled out all the stops and been a fantastic beta, allowing me to post this early.**

**I hope you like the next chapter, feedback as always is very welcome.**

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Chapter 4 Swords and Potions

Arthur looked over the training grounds, searching for the gangly figure who was supposed to be joining him and was already late. He tapped his foot impatiently against the soft ground, releasing the scent of wet grass, and scanned the horizon once again but there was no sign of his tardy servant. As the king waited he played with the stopper on the water-skin; he'd almost emptied the contents onto the ground several times but had righted the vessel at the last moment. With a sigh he looked down at the object he held in his hands. Merlin's perpetual inability to arrive on time was not helping matters. The doctored water-carrier remained full and the king began to pace.

These personal training sessions were designed to help the hapless servant protect himself during bandit attacks; Gwaine and Leon had been keen to offer their services but Arthur had wanted the project all to himself. The king enjoyed this; he liked anything physical and would lose himself in the mock fights. He loved the exhilaration of his heart beating faster, the pull and ache in his muscles as he pounded his body and let his mind be free. It was the one time he could forget the pressures of being a king and just enjoy the flow of movement, the rhythm of his sword as his arm effortlessly carried out the cuts and thrusts he'd been taught as a child. These skills had become so ingrained that his body instinctively responded to any challenge without conscious thought. Often Arthur could anticipate his opponent's intentions before they'd even thought of what to do and therefore parried most blows easily.

The royal had tried to impress upon his servant that it was just like learning the intricate moves of a dance – this did not help matters and the lanky man would wrap himself in knots and trip over his own feet. Merlin looked as comfortable holding a weapon as the king holding a scrubbing brush. His repertoire was limited and he lacked the strength and expertise to wield the blade proficiently. The only thing in his favour was speed; he actually got better when the pace picked up and when Merlin acted instinctively he was often successful. Strangely, Arthur could not always predict what the servant was going to do and there had even been a few occasions when Merlin had managed a feat some of the knights struggled with - to get the upper hand against the king. How he did it was a mystery; the moves were unorthodox but somehow it worked. When Arthur thought about it, Merlin had excellent reactions; he was the one that sensed things before anyone else. He seemed to have a second sight - the monarch had lost count of the times he'd been manhandled to the ground by a mass of lanky limbs, averting a danger he had not even been aware of. The irony was, for someone who hated hunting, Merlin had the eyes and ears of a hawk; but for all that, the grace of his namesake eluded him.

As the warlock rushed towards the training grounds he could just make out the armour-clad king stomping up and down, kicking divots in the ground_. Great, the prat was in a temper._ Merlin sighed; he was already drained from lack of sleep and hoped the royal would not make him run around the field to warm up before practice. Arthur had got it into his head Merlin ought to increase his stamina by doing laps but as far as the sorcerer was concerned running should be reserved for when one was late (which he frequently was) or when something horrid was chasing you (again, something that happened far too frequently for the servant's liking).

Being outside was usually rejuvenating; the breeze on his face, the sounds of the birds and the smell of wild herbs. The fresh air should make him feel better, only he was here to fight so it didn't. Merlin hated violence and wished disputes could be settled more amicably; he knew it was necessary for the knights but he could obliterate a kingdom with a blink of an eye and a wave of his hand if he chose to. He had no desire for such things. He only killed if he had to; taking any life saddened him and was only done as a last resort. The warlock wondered why he should be given so much power when half the time he used it for such trivial things. The rest of his time was spent keeping The Once and Future King free from harm and that did require effort; the task would be so much easier if he did not have to hide his gift. He longed for the freedom to study and hone his craft – to reach his true potential. Sometimes he feared he would lose against Morgana. He had more innate power, but when was his chance to practice? She had every waking hour at her disposal; no magic was out of bounds, no act too low, she was ruthless and cared for no one – this was her greatest strength and it was all to his detriment. Such thoughts were not helpful and he pushed them aside. Arthur had insisted on these lessons and Merlin inwardly smiled. It was the only way the royal could show he cared – never with words but through action, deed, and punches.

All too quickly the warlock was dressed with a breastplate, and could see the angry face of his sovereign through the slit in his helmet. Licking his lips, he swallowed and flexed his fingers against the pommel of his sword – let the fun begin.

After half an hour Merlin felt the vibration travel up his forearm and into his aching shoulder as he blocked yet another one of Arthur's blows. He'd barely recovered before he had to prevent a further attempt, this time aimed low, causing the sorcerer to flex his knees dangerously and unbalance himself.

"Stop bobbing up and down, you need to float," barked his opponent.

_And I'd love to see you fly! _Thought the warlock, but stopped himself, not wanting his gift to respond to such wishes. It would not do to have the king blasted backwards into the dirt no matter how tempting that may be.

"Rotate your hips and transfer the power through your arm."

Useful as this information was, the servant was concentrating on keeping upright. He was flagging and his legs were wobbling uncontrollably. When he lunged his knees would lock momentarily, like being stuck in mud, and it got more difficult to get up. Sweat stung his eyes and the sword slipped in his hand. Arthur's onslaught was relentless; blow after blow delivered with precision and incredible force coupled with helpful tips that Merlin was in no fit state to offer retorts to - though several choice words were mumbled under his breath.

They'd been sparring for three quarters of an hour and the royal had stopped speaking; instead there was only the sound of clanging metal and grunts and groans. They'd both removed their helmets – they were simply too hot and restrictive. The king had a look in his eye and Merlin knew the knight was somewhere else – on a battle field, a skirmish with bandits, a personal hell - not on the training grounds. The slashes got harder and more vicious and it took all of the warlock's concentration not to let his magic intervene and stop the battering.

"Arthur!" He panted, "Stop!"

The monarch did not hear him; he lifted his sword and sliced through the air, making a whooshing sound.

"Arthur!"

Merlin would have to slow time to get out the way.

Arthur was shaken out of his trance by the scream of his servant. He looked up just in time to see the man before him crumple, clutching his thigh.

"Merlin!"

The king speared the ground with his sword and sprinted toward his friend. Merlin was lying on his back like an upturned beetle; grasping his left leg, face contorted in agony. The monarch skidded to a halt and dropped to his knees. He franticly peeled Merlin's fingers away, searching for a break in the thin fabric and braced himself for the blood that would spurt from the wound – there was none. His palpation slowed when all he could feel was taut muscles, plaited cords spasming beneath his touch.

Arthur rocked back onto his heels, letting his hands flop to his sides. "I thought you were hurt," he said curtly.

"It does h-hurt!" By way of demonstration the servant shrieked again and rolled onto his side, still clutching the offending limb.

"It's a cramp, and it's your own fault; if you'd got here on time and warmed up properly this wouldn't have happened," seeing the younger man was still in pain the royal relented.

"Here," Arthur said, "you need to stretch it." With that, the blond knight stabilised the writhing servant's pelvis with a firm right hand as his left grasped Merlin's knee, bending it 90ᵒ. Taking the rest of the weight through his forearm the royal levered Merlin's heel towards his buttock and pulled the quadriceps muscle tight. Stretch over, the king released his servant.

"Better?"

"A bit," the invalid said with a meek shrug of the shoulder, "thanks."

"You need to drink," the king held out the doctored water-skin.

Merlin looked at the offering, he was thirsty but did not want to move so he shook his head, "I'll get something later."

"NO! You have a cramp and need fluids," Arthur insisted a little too urgently. "Now drink it, that's an order." _Damn it, why do have to make this more difficult than it already is?_

The servant just stared for a moment.

"Of course, Your Highness." The felled man snatched the water-skin, took a large gulp and spat most of it out. "That's disgusting – has something died in there?"

"MERLIN!" The monarch snarled, "That's my own personal water-skin, it has the royal seal."

The dark-haired man flinched, "I'm just saying..."

"Well, don't - just drink it, all of it," he snapped, fixing the younger man with a hard glare.

Merlin gave the king a pinched smile, raised his eyebrows, and tipped the remaining fluid down his throat.

Arthur bit his lip as he saw the servant's Adam's apple bob up and down. He was struck with a sudden urge to swipe the container away but before his hand had even twitched, Merlin had finished. The servant pointedly wiped a sleeve over his mouth and held the water-skin upside down to show it was empty, then tossed it back towards the king.

The deed was done.

"Is everything alright Sire?"

Both men jumped and turned to see Gaius standing serenely before them.

"Oh, hello Gaius, I didn't see you there," the king said like a child caught with his finger in the cake mix, "I have just finished giving Merlin his training."

"So I see," the old man responded dryly.

"Is there something I can help you with Gaius?"

"Yes Sire, as a matter of fact there is. I was wondering if Merlin could be relieved of his duties so he can help me dispose of some out-of-date medicine?"

Panic hit Arthur. _I need to question him; I need the truth_! The royal calmed. "Is that really necessary? Can't it wait? I am in need of Merlin's services myself this evening."

"Well, Your Highness, the properties of preparations can change over time," the physician licked his lip and proceeded with caution. "It is not safe to keep them over a month. Some lose their potency, some get stronger or even toxic and others can become volatile and dangerous." He leaned forward, "Need I remind you of the explosion that took out most of my previous place of study?"

There was something about the way Gaius spoke that could make the royal feel like a twelve year old and not a mighty king of a thriving city. After an awkward silence Arthur made a decision.

"Very well Gaius, but have Merlin report to my chambers as soon as he's finished."

"I am here, you know," the man in question huffed from his position on the ground.

"Really? Because you looked like you were taking a nap," snapped the royal.

The warlock was about to protest, but he did feel a bit out of sorts and had only caught the last few words of conversation. _Had he really drifted off?_

"Are you alright, Merlin?" Gaius asked his ward, seeing that the young man looked a bit peaky.

"Tired," he offered with a feeble bob of the head.

"Well, see to it that you go to bed early and don't wait up for me," the physician turned to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to check on Marion and the new babe in the lower town." He blustered; he'd already told his ward this information. "Don't forget to tidy up after you have finished," Gaius nodded to the king and bid farewell, making his way toward the gates of the citadel.

The warlock let his head flop back down and listened to the retreating steps of his guardian. He really did not want to get up, however that choice was not available. He felt a nudge to his calf and squinting through his fingers he saw Arthur eying him expectantly, hands on hips, frown on face.

"Are you going to lie there all day?"

Merlin blinked a few times and struggled to his feet using the royal's outstretched arm as a support. Once he was standing it took a moment for the two kings to merge into one.

"There is no shame in losing to the finest swordsman in Camelot," Arthur quipped.

"I could have beaten you easily if I'd wanted to," the sorcerer sulked.

"Yes, of course you could," the king said sarcastically. _The potion's not working yet – perhaps it's faulty?_

Merlin let out a large yawn.

"Oh, am I keeping you awake? What was it you were doing last night Merlin?" Arthur could not contain himself; the lie had been bugging him all day.

"I was mending the wall in the lower corridor," the warlock found himself saying.

"What? In the middle of the night?" Arthur screeched, searching the skies.

"Well I could hardly do it during the day, could I?" the servant responded sticking his bottom lip out like a petulant child.

Arthur threw his hands in the air; he struggled to find the words. "I despair of you! You are without a doubt the strangest man I have ever met," he snorted. "Don't be late this evening," and with that he stormed off, leaving the warlock feeling dazed and confused.

Merlin had just been about to explain that one of the wards he'd placed on the castle wall had backfired, causing the sizeable hole in the masonry which had taken him all night to fix. Thankfully Arthur had left - he could not believe he'd been about to say something so incriminating. It must be the sleep deprivation; he felt terrible.

As the sorcerer hobbled towards the castle he murmured a spell to take away the pain in his leg, not caring if anyone saw him. He felt absolutely wretched. At this rate he'd never get to be an old man like Gaius, excessive chores and his job as secret defender to the king would kill him young. Evidence was plentiful for such a claim; there weren't many old servants – but then, there were even fewer old kings – as soon as a monarch becomes vulnerable the opposition takes advantage. Merlin stifled those macabre thoughts; he was not going to let that happen to Arthur.

Little did he know his own life was now in danger, and from the very man he had sworn to protect. Arthur had given him a potion which -unbeknownst to the king - had festered, changed, and mutated over the last three months. No longer was it just a truth tonic, but a deadly poison.

Fate had finally given the warlock his wish; he was completely oblivious to his perilous predicament. A lethal toxin was currently being pumped around his body with every beat of his heart. Even if he had known, it was too late to act.

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**So, did anyone see that coming? **

**In the next chapter, our boys have their talk whilst Merlin is under the influence - I've been itching to get to this part since the beginning and hope you will enjoy it too!**


	5. Chapter 5

**That was quite a response to the last chapter! Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited - Sorry I can't reply in PMs to the guest reviews - I love hearing your comments. **

**A big shout out to Caldera32 for her tireless work as my Beta. **

**So here is the next chapter – Merlin's health starts to deteriorate and Arthur begins to realise what he has done! Hope you enjoy it. As always your thoughts and views are welcome and very much appreciated.**

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Chapter 5 The Potion Takes Effect

By the time Merlin reached Arthur's chambers his vision had started to blur slightly, but just as he got worried about it his surroundings came back into sharp focus. The warlock's brain banged like an incessant drum and he struggled to balance and place his feet. He was clumsy at the best of times but he'd never felt like this – something was seriously amiss. The sorcerer tried to think of a way to improve his situation but it was hard to concentrate and formulate an appropriate spell. He stopped, bracing himself against wobbly knees, trying and failing to get his head together. He let his forehead rest against the cold stone in a vain effort to ready himself for the task ahead, but he could not put it off any longer. He grasped the handle and pushed the oak door open, ready to greet his king.

Arthur heard his servant well before he made his entrance – hurried footsteps, banging and clanging followed by mild cursing – who else could it be? Merlin tumbled into the room looking quite dazed. He managed to navigate the short distance between the door and the king's desk with difficulty; narrowly avoided hitting a pillar as he weaved his way across the room with a scissoring gait.

"Sit," the king commanded, a slight smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was like watching a baby foal. Even when they'd gone drinking with Gwaine Merlin hadn't gotten this intoxicated – perhaps this could be fun. Given how frequently his servant was supposed to visit the tavern he should have seen him lose control at least once - but he never had. Merlin wouldn't ever let go or completely relax; his guard was always up – suddenly that seemed a little odd.

Merlin's hand missed the back of the chair; on the second attempt he found the target and lowered himself onto the seat with a flump. The dark-haired man blinked, his gaze darting around the room like a hungry mosquito. Finally his blue, distinctly glazed eyes found the king.

Arthur started to feel a bit uncomfortable watching the young man struggle. Merlin's complexion was pallid, he licked his lips as if he were thirsty and he was looking at his hands as if discovering them for the first time – rotating his fingers, then waving them in the air as if following an imaginary trail. Surely Merlin was meant to behave like this after ingesting the potion? _It was one of the side effects wasn't it?_

Arthur had seen many knights overindulge (one in particular), they would become uncoordinated and sometimes sick. He desperately wanted to believe that was all that was wrong with Merlin, but his instincts told him there was more to it than that.

"Merlin?"

There was no answer. The king approached his servant and tried again.

"Merlin?" Arthur knelt down until he was at eye level, "Merlin are you alright?"

At first there was no response but then came a soft reply, "No, I don't feel right, it's never done this before," he became distracted again, waving an appendage in the air. "This is all wrong, it can't be happening," his voice was shrill.

Before the blond perpetrator could ask his victim about the strange comments and behaviour, the warlock provided a rather startling piece of information:

"I'm going to be sick!"

Arthur frantically looked around for some vessel that could be used should his servant follow through with that threat. Spying a fruit bowl he vaulted over the bed, tossed the contents on the floor and sprinted back to his friend, shoving the wooden container under the nose of his servant.

Nothing happened, just the sound of rasping breaths and the vibration of apples rolling around the room. The royal was worried now; Merlin never admitted to being unwell, and to top it all he seemed to be having some sort of panic attack.

Merlin grasped the bowl like it was his only possession and he was frightened someone might steal it. The mop of black hair came up, revealing a grey face dotted with perspiration.

"I just need a minute," he threw his head back and let it fall against his shoulders, taking big gasps of air – not alright at all.

The king, a self-proclaimed man of action, was bewildered. He did not know what to do; this was not the effect he had been expecting. _Get help? But Gaius would need to know what I've done. No, surely it's not that bad is it? Perhaps I'm not to blame, there could be another cause couldn't there? _The guilty man poured a cup of water and was surprised by how his hand trembled.

The blond knight approached his servant and supported Merlin's skull carefully in his palm, bringing him upright. His hair was damp and he radiated heat. Arthur's other hand pressed the goblet to pale lips and encouraged the younger man to drink.

"Come on, just some sips," he urged.

Merlin obliged, then with eyes still firmly closed added, "Anyone would think you care."

"Merlin!" The royal jerked, but he could not keep the relief out of his voice.

The warlock seemed to rally; he came into a sitting position and was able to balance on his own, blinking rapidly as he took in his surroundings.

Something was terribly wrong. Merlin could not concentrate, too distracted by pain. He felt like a stake had been driven into his temple and his stomach churned. He tried desperately to prevent the writhing snakes from breaking free. These ailments were the least of his worries – his magic was going haywire, frantic and fizzing, bubbling under his skin, trying to get out. He could not understand what was causing this reaction – it had never happened before.

"It doesn't make sense," he swallowed, rubbing his thumb and index finger against a clammy forehead, "I was fine - tired maybe," he said with some confusion.

"Something you ate?" offered Arthur. _Like truth serum? _His conscience screamed.

"Nothing." Having relinquished the empty bowl, Merlin had started scrutinizing his fingers again. He made swirling shapes with his hands, gaze following the movements as if it were a troublesome insect.

Arthur ignored the servant's aerial display. "What? You've eaten nothing?" He questioned in a heated voice.

"Nope!" Merlin seemed oblivious to the blond man's burgeoning rage, too intent on wiggling his own digits.

"You were supposed to have something – it helps a cramp, you idiot!"

"I took a pain killer."

"That's not enough!" Screeched the king.

"There was no time; there is never any time," snapped the sorcerer, "not when you and Gaius always want so much," he added wistfully. The dark-haired man was staring at something over Arthur's shoulder. "Felt nauseous - couldn't eat," he supplied, distracted, and pulled a face.

Suddenly the warlock had a revelation; he turned and looked intently at Arthur. Merlin crouched slightly and cupped his hand to the side of his mouth, "I think someone is trying to kill me!" He whispered, eyes darting from side to side before fixing once again on something behind the king.

Arthur was a little taken aback, "Don't be ridiculous Merlin, who would want to kill you?"

The king's tone was sceptical, but he could not stop himself from following the younger man's glare. He turned towards the corner as if expecting to see an assassin, but of course it was empty. His attention went back to his servant.

"Too many!" was the matter-of-fact reply, "Mainly the same ones who try and get rid of you – I get in the way." Merlin wagged his finger and raised his eyebrows for emphasis.

Arthur froze; he'd heard that phrase before. Merlin had used those exact words when reluctantly explaining how he came by a large burn, central to his chest. He'd been hurt defending his mother, had even killed the perpetrator. The royal thought that was the end of the tale, but this implied there was more to the story_. Had his servant sacrificed himself multiple times, more than his many scars suggested? _The king's train of thought was interrupted by his servant's triumphant cry.

"Poison!" He shouted, sounding almost pleased that he'd worked out the answer to the problem.

Arthur's mouth went dry. _No, it couldn't be could it? It was a truth tonic, that's all - designed to loosen his tongue, make him a little inebriated maybe - certainly not toxic!_ A terrible realisation began to dawn on the royal. The physician's ward was familiar with all manner of potions and he'd been poisoned before – he'd drunk it to save the life of an arrogant prince he barely knew. Arthur grabbed his hair in frustration; bile bubbled in his throat. He had absolutely no idea what was in that vial. He should have known something was wrong; Merlin had said the water was disgusting when it was supposed to be tasteless. Gaius had even told him that very day that the properties of medicines change over time. _Oh what have I done?_ Merlin answered his question for him.

"I...I think I'm dying!" The pale man rubbed his throat and examined his hand again, then he turned towards the royal looking horror-stricken.

"Don't be such..." the words died in his throat, "What makes you say that?" Arthur croaked nervously. _It couldn't be that bad, there must be a mistake. _He needed to get Gaius.

"Isn't it obvious?" The servant was incredulous as he frantically waved his arm in front of Arthur, "Look, it's leaving! It's..." Merlin suddenly stilled and began to frown. He slumped into the chair and let out a long sigh. Slowly his head levelled, gaze trained on the royal. "You – you gave me the water-skin," Merlin's eyes were wide – a finger pointed at his king. "You..." his breath caught, "you insisted I drink all of it," his voice shook with disbelief.

Caught red-handed, Arthur could not hide his guilt and fumbled his words; he stretched out his hands, palms open as if trying to calm a wild animal. "I, it's –it's not what it looks like." Arthur's head spun. _I didn't think you'd get sick! You weren't meant to find out; it's all going wrong. _

The servant looked terrified and seemed to shrink into the seat, "You know?" His breath hitched and all remaining colour left his face.

"I know nothing, Merlin," the royal looked skyward, "that's the point!" He said through gritted teeth as he balled his hands into fists.

It was no justification for what he had done. When he had planned this it all seemed so simple; the reality was anything but. Trust was the linchpin of friendship and he had tossed it aside like a piece of rubbish. Merlin's secret had been a stone in his shoe and rather than dealing with the irritation appropriately he had thrown away his footwear and been left barefoot, dancing on a sea of broken glass.

When Morgana turned it had been a dagger to his heart, when Guinevere chose Lancelot the blade cut savagely as it twisted, and when Agravaine had shown his true colours it was driven deeper until he thought there was no greater pain than being betrayed by those he had loved – but giving was so much worse than receiving. Arthur could hardly bear to look at the expression etched on his friend's face -one he had never wanted to see. The king couldn't have done more damage if he'd unsheathed his sword and plunged it into his servant's flesh. Right now he wanted to take it all back, rewind time, but he could not. Little did he know there was worse to come.

Merlin lurched to the side and crashed to his knees, up-turning the chair and sending the bowl skidding across the floor. He was violently sick; body taut on all fours, convulsing as the retching continued. Eventually the servant rolled onto his back, exhausted.

Arthur stepped towards him cautiously and knelt, placing a hand on the fallen man's shoulder only to have it pulled away as Merlin scuttled backwards, away from the mess and from the king.

"Merlin wait, I'll call Gaius, I'll...," he advanced and Merlin continued to move back, gaze never leaving his sovereign.

"It's not your style Sire; I thought the gallows were a possibility or the pyre, a sword maybe, but poison?" Merlin threw back his head and let out a brittle laugh, "Morgana would be so proud." The warlock threw open his arms, addressing the ceiling, "Are you happy now? Have you had your revenge?"

Merlin seemed unhinged; he did not normally show anger or bitterness, only if he was pushed beyond endurance, so this display chilled Arthur to the bone.

"Merlin, Morgana's not here – for once this has nothing to do with her."

"I know that!" He barked, then his arms and head flopped back down. The fight was all gone, replaced by sadness, "I never thought...I hoped it would not end this way." The pitch of his voice was now barely audible.

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to hurt you, you idiot."

The servant surveyed the monarch, anger long-since dissolved into disillusionment, "You already have."

The words stung. The king pulled at his hair and stamped, "I didn't know this would happen! Damn it, you're my best friend!" He shook his head and gazed at the floor, "I would never do anything like that on purpose – Why would you think such a thing?"

The warlock let out a faint snort, "The things I've done. What I am."

Arthur did not even register the response; he was so riled and desperate to defend himself that he did not hear Merlin and instead ploughed on with his plea, "I only wanted the truth!"

"Truth?" Merlin spat out sullenly. "Really? The truth hurts and you couldn't deal with it!" He shouted, then turned away deflated. "I tell you the truth all the time and you don't want to believe it," he looked up at his king and sighed, resigned. "You see and hear what you want to, not what's really there. That's why I could never tell you," he added quietly, "If you really saw, you would have to choose." The dark head flopped forward, crestfallen.

Arthur wanted Merlin to stay angry; he could deal with that. He could hold his own in a fight, but his friend had fallen silent. It was like Merlin expected this, knew his king could treat him this way. That comprehension, coupled with the enormity of what he'd done, made the royal want to vomit. Things had gotten out of control so quickly – like trying to coax a flame only to have it turn into a raging inferno destroying all in its path until nothing is left but ash.

Nothing made sense anymore. For once the servant had not tried to be evasive and dodge the questions; he had answered truthfully and from the heart but his responses were still riddles to Arthur. However, if the king would only listen, all the answers were already there – and there was some part of him that knew that.

Before the monarch could seek clarification, the thin thread holding Merlin up snapped and he collapsed. His skin was waxy and white, body still – Arthur feared the worst.

Sprinting over, the royal grasped at his servant's neck, relieved when he felt a pulse – it was barely there, weak and thready.

"GUARDS!"

Oak doors were flung open and the men who were permanent fixtures outside the king's chambers rushed in.

"Go and get the physician – NOW!" He ordered, not even turning his head away from the floor and his fallen friend.

The men almost tripped over themselves in their haste to complete the task, such was the fury in the king's tone. The guards were used to being statues and had a similar amount going on between the ears but the royal was confident they would be able to follow his orders to the letter. He heard the sound of retreating footfalls slapping the stone floor and sighed, assured Gaius would soon be on the way.

The king knew the situation was dire. He'd seen plenty of causalities on the battlefield and he instinctively knew when a knight would not make it – there was a certain aura about their body. He'd felt death's putrid fingers on his own skin in the past, but had been lucky enough to elude their grasp. He'd lost many and taken lives himself when necessary - but never like this.

Arthur watched, paralysed, as his servant lay motionless on a dusty stone floor, devoid of any visible injury. The royal was numb; a bitter chill crept up his spine as if he were being encased in ice. _This could not be happening. _Merlin had the look and feel of one whose life was ebbing away, a hair's-breadth from becoming a corpse - and it was entirely his fault. He could not breathe; his chest was tight. Arthur, King of Camelot, a respected and so-called honourable knight had poisoned his best friend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for such a great response to the last chapter, I hope you will enjoy this one just as much. I really appreciate all those who have taken the time to post reviews, favourite and follow, also to the guest reviews and those I cannot respond to personally. As always your thoughts and comments are very welcome.**

**Special thanks to Caldrea32 for all her hard work as a Beta.**

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Chapter 6 From Bad to Worse

Arthur felt the empty vial in his pocket and, in a fit of rage, tore it free and hurled it at the wall where it shattered into hundreds of pieces - broken beyond repair like his friendship. He turned his attention back to the unconscious servant. He'd caused this, no one else; the fault was all his and he had to make it better. He started shaking Merlin's shoulder and slapping his face, trying to rouse him. When that failed to work, the monarch adjusted his position so the servant was more upright then sat on the floor, pulling the sick man's trunk against his chest, head supported against his shoulder. The royal took some comfort in feeling the faint beat of his brother's heart.

Safe in the knowledge his servant could not hear him, the dam broke. Truths poured from Arthur's tongue in a torrent of emotion, "I'm sorry Merlin, really I am, you're loyal and brave and don't deserve any of this." He rubbed his eyes to remove any traces of moisture - kings don't cry. "Come on, wake up," he pleaded, "no time for rest, you great lanky idiot, get up - we have come through worse than this." After each appeal the royal rubbed the tan jacket, trying to elicit some response from its owner, but to no avail.

Throughout all manner of scrapes and adventures the two men had been triumphant. They complemented each other and had vanquished all manner of threats; mythical beasts, bandits, and sorcerers hellbent on revenge. Merlin, who rode into battle without armour, who never left his side, had been defeated by the very man he stood shoulder to shoulder with – stabbed in the back by his best friend. There was no blade, no blood; but that potion was draining his life-force just the same. Arthur would never forgive himself for what he had done to Merlin. How could he tell Hunith that her only son suffered because of him, because of his arrogance and stupidity? Guinevere, Gaius, the knights - they would all want answers, but no explanation would be good enough.

Uther had trained his son to be strong and decisive with no regrets - a king can have no friends, can trust no one, and only earns respect through fear. Merlin taught him that those values were wrong. The old tyrant must be turning in his grave seeing a servant cradled in his son's arms, a servant whose opinion Arthur sought over any other in Camelot (save his wife), whose health and forgiveness he yearned for above all else – and if tears were what it took, he would give them gladly because some men were worthy.

The young king sensed the unconscious man stirring and he carefully extracted himself from the servant, placing the man flat on the floor with a pillow from the bed supporting his head. He watched intently as pale eyelids fluttered.

Merlin was becoming aware of his surroundings again and cracked open his eyes. The images were blurry, but he could make out a form in front of him. The man had a broad chest and lank black hair that brushed against his shoulders. The clothes were shabby and his expression could have been intimidating if it were not schooled into a reassuring smile. Balinor.

"Father?"

"Merlin?" The royal said, somewhat surprised.

Merlin had told him he'd never known his father and Arthur had assumed that the man had walked out or died – this was not good.

Balinor's voice was all wrong; the warlock blinked and the fuzzy figure came into focus, a man with short blond hair. Arthur. The sorcerer flinched. Did Arthur know now? The king had every right to be angry, he'd been deceived since the moment they'd met. Of course a Pendragon would react that way._ I've lied; I have magic. My greatest fear has been realised - I've always known it could happen…_ No, there was something else… Arthur wasn't angry; he was… worried? He'd said he knew nothing, so why the poison? It didn't make sense. The warlock shook his head - it hurt, everything did. He was so tired and it was hard to think. Someone was saying his name and he couldn't concentrate.

"Merlin, can you hear me?" The royal debated touching his servant's shoulder to gain his attention. Arthur did not want to alarm the skittish young man but he was just gazing into space, oblivious to everything around him.

"Merlin!" The royal yelled with a bit more force than he'd intended.

The man in question jumped, then his head turned slowly toward Arthur. His face was impassive, eyes wide and lacking their usual sparkle, pupils fixed and dilated. The monarch had never seen Merlin look so pitiful. Arthur gave an involuntary shiver, Merlin was listening now but Arthur found all the moisture had left his throat, he swallowed and tried to explain.

"I think you've had a bad reaction. Gaius is on the way," the king said. "It will be alright – you will be alright... It was just supposed to be a truth potion," he added somewhat desperately, "It was an accident. You keep secrets, you never tell me anything..." his tirade was interrupted.

"Why do you think that is, Arthur?" The servant croaked, "You never react well!" The warlock solemnly surveyed the speechless king - the man he'd do anything to protect - and tried to process just what the hell had happened.

_Accident? You wanted to know my secret and now I'm dying?_ The irony wasn't lost on Merlin. He should be angry, but what purpose would it serve? He did not have it in him, did not have the energy to fight his fate._ I should just tell him; I've nothing left to lose._ Only that wasn't true. His brother's faith and friendship - no matter how fragile - was the only thing that kept him going. The cord that connected them was now so tenuous it would surely snap, but he had to cling to it for just a little longer – even though he knew Arthur would need to know in the end.

Even when ailing, Merlin knew how to silence a king. Arthur could not think of an appropriate response. He felt uncomfortable under the glare of the man he'd betrayed and so busied himself in the practical.

"Can you sit up?"

Not waiting for an answer, the strong knight pulled the younger man into an upright position. Merlin still looked terrible. He was studying his hands again, turning them over and inspecting them, but then stopped and gazed into the opposite corner of the room.

Again the royal couldn't help himself and turned to look at what his servant seemed so captivated by – but there was nothing there.

"Merlin?" Arthur grasped his friend's shoulder, "What are you looking at?"

"Freya."

The king pulled his hand away like he'd been burnt.

A small smile touched his servant's full lips and his attention remained behind Arthur. The royal's mouth went dry and his stomach twisted –_ Freya was dead._ Merlin was calm and no longer seemed angry that his friend had tricked him, but the relief this should have brought was short-lived. The dark-haired man was somewhere else entirely, somewhere with ghosts - and that was most disturbing. _Had the dead come to claim his friend?_ He had heard of such things, but did not want to believe it. Arthur placed his hand tentatively against Merlin's chest.

"There is nothing there, Merlin," he ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed, not sure how to continue. "Freya's gone – she died years ago. You told me that," he said softly.

"I know..." the dazed man turned towards him, his deep blue eyes watery and earnest, "but she's here now. She's spoken to me before in times of need...she told me what to do."

"Times of need?" The king croaked.

"How to defeat Morgana's un-dead army…"

The king was speechless, his arm dropped to his side, his mouth agape._ All had seemed lost, we had been losing the battle, then the spell broke and we were victorious. How could Merlin have influenced that?_ After stunned silence, sarcasm took over; it was his only form of defence when it came to his servant.

"You do that a lot – destroy immortals?" The statement was said with a hesitant smile. He had not expected a reply but he got one.

"I do what's necessary to protect Camelot, to protect you," the warlock said defiantly, looking straight at his king.

"You protect me?" This was getting surreal; Merlin had purged himself of the potion but he was not getting better, he was getting worse.

"All the time," he shook his head and frowned, "but it's not easy." The sorcerer was becoming distant, eyes brimming with moisture, "Always you, but I tried so hard to save them all."

"How many times Merlin?"

"Five!"

"Five? You saved me five times?" Arthur was incredulous.

"No!" Tears spilled over his cheeks, "I don't keep track of how often I save you or others, only the times I've failed." His face scrunched up in pain, but he was determined to continue. "All this power," there was a dismissive wave of one hand, "I was not strong enough, they died because I could not shield them. Will, Freya, Lancelot, my father... even Morgana, all gone," he gestured with his hands, "I couldn't stop it happening."

"Morgana is not dead."

"Not physically," his arm jerked in a fist then flopped down in frustration, "but the Morgana we knew died years ago and it's all my fault." The frail man became resolute, "She's become bitter and twisted, bent on destruction. I've stopped her Arthur – but what about next time?"

Suddenly Merlin seized his king's arm. He clutched the fabric tightly, bony fingers biting into the king's bicep to such an extent it hurt.

"Listen to me, Arthur, Morgana is obsessed with killing you. She won't rest. She's grown stronger – I thought she could be saved but it's too late. I have looked into her soul and it is wretched; she's insane, there is no coming back."

"Merlin," Arthur tried to pull away, yelping when his servant's grip intensified – despite his frail appearance his voice was strong and commanding, frighteningly so.

"No, listen, you never listen," frustration laced his tone, "this is important. Don't go after her, but if there comes a time when she is close use your sword – Excalibur - it has the power to destroy her." The servant released the royal's arm and flopped backwards, "I'm sorry I failed you."

"Don't be absurd – you are not going to die and you're not to blame for what happened to Morgana, or those deaths." The king had hold of Merlin's snot-streaked face, forcing his friend to look at him. "Stay with me Merlin, Gaius is coming."

"It's too late," he said sadly, "I think..." he blinked and sighed. "That's why they are all here, to take me to Avalon."

"NO!" The king shouted, distraught. "No – it was just a truth potion, nothing more; you can't die, Merlin – that's an order." He swallowed but there was no saliva, all moisture being diverted to his nose and eyes and threatening to break free. "You will be polishing my armour in no time," the king sniffed, but they both knew that was not true.

"Look," the warlock waved his arm in front of Arthur; his eyes were wide and full of wonder, "It's kind of beautiful like this – embers, sparks that fly on the wind and turn to ash – kind of ironic, don't you think?"

Arthur closed a fist around Merlin's flailing limb, lowering it slowly; he spoke to his servant like he was speaking to a child.

"There is nothing there."

"It's leaving," the warlock said wistfully, "my life-force."

"I can't see anything."

"You can't see the magic?"

Arthur's breath caught in his throat; Merlin was clearly delusional – but somehow he knew his friend spoke the truth. _He needs a physician._

"There is no magic here, Merlin; I would know." The king was firm in his argument, but Merlin did not waver.

"It's everywhere, Arthur," he marvelled. "It's in the very fabric of the world; fire, rivers and oceans, the earth, the air that we breathe - it is all around."

As Merlin spoke a sense of foreboding had built in Arthur's chest, the things his friend said suggested one thing – one secret that, if true, would explain why Merlin had remained silent. Finally it was about to be laid bare, and he did not want to know. He could force the truth out of Merlin, he had the power, but he no longer wanted to. Arthur was brave, fearless, but he was scared to ask the question because he already knew the answer.

Suddenly the servant turned to his king, grabbing his arm, "You have to leave now, it's not safe."

"I'm not going anywhere," Arthur was getting frustrated –_ Where is Gaius?_

Merlin was insistent, "You – you, go, I can't control it." A desperate shout, "Please GO!" He had started to tremble, "Go before it's too late."

"No."

The warlock did not fully understand what was happening, but he was sure of one thing - he was dying. It was not in a battle or in some heroic way; it was not what he had imagined and he could not stop it. Somehow he'd kept his secret but was being burnt from within for not telling the truth. He was frightened and did not want to die alone, he craved the comfort and the presence of his brother, but Arthur had to leave. He just needed to tell him the truth first, to make him realise that magic was not evil - that his had one purpose: to defend The Once and Future King.

Merlin felt weaker for each strand of his golden gift that left, but bony fingers locked onto muscular biceps; fever-bright ocean eyes bore into the king's solemn sky-coloured irises.

"I've never betrayed you, Arthur … I only ever wanted to protect you."

"I know, Merlin. I've always known; you don't need to say it." _Your loyalty has never been in doubt. I failed you; I'm an arrogant, shallow fool. What does that secret matter now?_

The servant shook his head, closed his eyes briefly then opened them wide, "Please understand it's not evil – I used it to shield - only for good, only for you."

Arthur was shaking his head, pain clouding his face, willing his brother to stop. He did not want to hear the words that were about to wash over him, but he could not hold back the torrent as Merlin's final truth hit him.

"I have magic, Arthur," he took a deep breath, "I was born with it!"

It was like being in a vacuum. He heard nothing, and everything was black save for his servant's face. The king watched in shock as the tide retreated; deep blue pools around the pupils disappearing, leaving behind pure gold. The orbs of fire rolled back in their sockets, lids shuttered out the light and the body they belonged to crumpled to the ground, slipping through slack arms.

Arthur sprang back like he'd been stung. He could not comprehend what he had just seen. Instinct told him to run away and he started to; he scrambled on his hands and knees and got a few metres but could not do it. He could not leave. Merlin had magic, but the man's life was at stake and that was more important – it had always been more important and he saw that now.

The room was getting brighter and when Arthur looked at Merlin's body he saw light emanating from it. Flecks of gold were rising in a steady stream, accumulating on the ceiling above in a swirling mass of white-blue sparks. It was getting noisy, a buzzing sound that he had not been aware of before but was increasing in intensity. It was like being in a blizzard - he couldn't see, blinded by the light, he couldn't hear his own shouts over the deafening roar. He was crawling towards the stationary figure, it was most important that he got there. He sensed something and reached forward, grasping a wrist and being shocked when the skin burned him - but he would not let go. He could find no pulse.

"NO!" Arthur screamed, his voice lost in the building crescendo of noise and light. He pounded on the chest of his friend with his fist, begging for him to wake up.

"Take me instead," he pleaded to no one and anyone, "take me."

The king of Camelot was blasted backwards, striking the wall and falling to the ground. The glass in the windows shattered and blew outwards, but darkness had claimed the royal before his body hit the floor.

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_To be continued..._


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